Listening to every heart
Why is it that it takes wet, pounding water
to make my mind work like it oughter?
For the minute I find that the shower I’m in
sets my head spinning on a poem that would win.
Win what you ask? My acceptance, of course,
words flee by faster than any race horse;
they seem to follow the pounding beat
as the shower’s rain hits me, drips to my feet.
I’d take in a tape recorder, but know for a fact,
my husband’d claim “yes, indeed, she’s done cracked”
and pen, pencil or paper lose their meaning
in a shower, indeed, I’d think I was dreaming!
I’m not near good enough to hire a secretary
and know for a fact, the person couldn’t be hairy,
and any woman I know, well, that wouldn’t work
for all women I know have their own poetic quirk.
Now I know of indelible ink, and waterproof boards
I could wear one around my neck, on a cord,
but the next complaint I know I would hear
is “hey, please leave me some hot water, dear!”
So lament with me as the shower I leave wet
grab a towel and quickly dry, lest I forget
the words that are now leaving my brain dry
probably won’t come back, till I have a good cry!
3 November 1999
Look, then, into thine heart, and write ~~~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow